Stevens ground to a halt this summer as a malicious virus paralyzed its computer system and brought the school to its digital knees. According to the Emergency IT Department, the virus has been described as “bad,” “very bad,” and “dear God let us go back to defeating this demon code.” The virus was implanted into the system by a secret hacker who offered to undo their heinous work at the outrageous cost of $12. President Farvardin, aghast at the thought of giving anyone money for any reason, soundly rejected this deal and went back to whipping the IT department to make them work faster. The hacker, whose identity is known but we won’t tell you who it is until the end of the article so you read the whole thing, declined to comment on this development.
The hack was first noticed on August 8, at approximately “a little after lunch.” The IT Department had had a slow summer, having already solved their previous big issue: some bagel crumbs that had found their way into the network terminal. The incriminating “bits” (a little computer joke for those so inclined) had taken 4 weeks and 14 canisters of compressed air to be ejected from the system. Suffice it to say the entire staff was fairly tuckered out from the summer’s exertion and was ready to get back to their main job: looking up Yahoo Answers on how to fix laptops. “Then we got this message on one of the computers,” said a source at the IT Department who asked to remain anonymous. “But the hacker must’ve messed up because the message only flashed for, like, half a second, and then we were locked out of the system!” Sarah continued. The hack had taken out almost all of the school’s online resources, including Canvas, the campus e-mail system, and the secret group chat where all the professors make fun of the students. As a school who has the word “Technology” right in the name, this was a very regrettable situation for Stevens to be in.
Pandemonium ensued as students realized that they no longer had access to online services. Many summer classes that relied on online submissions and files inexplicably continued to chug right along despite the lack of internet. Unable to utilize SolidWorks for their assignments, many engineering students were forced to hand-draw their designs, resulting in a number of beautiful still-life paintings that are now on display in the Babbio Atrium. The entire Computer Science department was reduced to barbarism, as sophisticated computer programs had to be re-implemented onto wooden abacuses and comically complicated Rube Goldberg-type systems.
For weeks after the attack, the Division of Information Technology worked tirelessly on regaining control of the system, stopping only for lunches, union-mandated breaks, weekends, weekdays during non-working hours, their children’s piano recitals, daily moments of zen, and Friday pizza parties. Throughout all of it, the administration sent daily notices to students to keep them updated, almost all of them saying “System still broken. Maybe tomorrow?” These messages kept morale on campus high throughout the entire ordeal, as students couldn’t help but respect the transparent and honest communication that the school was graciously giving them.
The initial suspect for the attack was ex-President Dmitri Kolba, the Ukrainian hacker who last semester had baited President Farvardin into giving up the deed to the school through a supposed iPhone giveaway. Kolba graciously gave the school back after realizing that, having a very weak grasp on the English language, he could not pronounce “Institute of Technology” to any degree of success, and was soundly mocked for it as a result. He e-mailed the deed to the school back to newly-reinstated President Farvardin with an attached “my bad.” When Off the Press contacted Kolba through the use of several Ukrainian-to-English language dictionaries, it was discovered that he had been fishing at the time of the recent hack, and he sent us a picture of the fish as proof. It was a pretty small fish, too, so we know that he’s not lying to make himself look better.
Since the attack, the hacker’s identity has been revealed to be none other than Martini, President Farvardin’s lovable and criminally mischievous pet dog. The adorable cyberterrorist had used his connection to the president to steal his administrative password (pUppyLOVeR1870) and hold the school’s computer system for ransom. When asked why he did all this for only $12, Martini let out a cute yap and rolled over onto his back, allowing our field reporter to rub his stomach. Currently, Martini is set to face the maximum sentence for his crime: 70 dog-years in federal dog-prison (St. Bernard’s Penitentiary) and a hefty fine of 700,000 dog-dollars. While the damage to the school may have been extensive, we can rest assured knowing that this fluffy menace is finally off the streets.
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